


You Through My Eyes

by MelanieVimpula



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Multi, Pretty much wishing for incest to happen, Sensual describing instead of porn, Stridercest - Freeform, but it's not confirmed to be mutual, implied crossdressing kink, or even known to the other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:01:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3286184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelanieVimpula/pseuds/MelanieVimpula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of little ficlets about each Strider's thoughts of the other, mostly descripting their adoration in their own personal way. It's kind of a study of psyche once again, it's interesting to see how the description changes when ages or genders change. <br/>Not outright porn, but sensual description.<br/>Striders can be mixed and matched in so many different combinations that I don't even try to estimate a chapter count.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alpha!Dave and Dirk

He's beautiful, that's a fact you can't deny. You could stare at him hours at end, but you settle into stealing quick glances whenever he's least expecting it. You let your eyes wander over his broad shoulders, down to his narrow waist and finally to his lean hips before you force yourself to look away. Sometimes you follow the tantalizing curve of his spine to the dip of his lower back. If you're lucky he might stretch and you'll catch a glimpse of his venus dimples barely peeking over the waistline of his pants. You try to stifle your groan and it stays hanging in your throat, slowly suffocating you until you swallow it heavily down. Next thing you find yourself doing is crossing your legs in a pathetic attempt to hide your awkward boner. If you're feeling particularly daring you'll try to admire his front instead. You'll play nonchalant, your dark aviator shades concealing your exploring eyes from him. His collarbones look so inviting, you'd love to bite down on them and see how he squirms. Even though he's barely 18 he's already well toned, god, his chest is just asking for a pair of hands to smooth over the muscle and skin, going down over his abs and even further down where you shouldn't lay your hands at all. Oh how you'd want to get under those black cargo pants that hug his hips and tear off that tight tank top that really, really compliments his frame. If he reaches up you can see his happy trail, blonde and cute, just like him. It involuntarily leads your eyes down before you can pull yourself together and look away. The ashamed flush heats your cheeks up and you ask yourself what's wrong with you. The days you're feeling nearly suicidal you'll observe his face, the constellations of freckles splayed on his cheeks, his swishy straw blond hair, the shape of his cheekbones, his strong brows... You could go on forever. The rarest treat of them all are his eyes, those bright amber irises that make you warm and tingly in all the right places. But he conceals them under dark shades, just like you, and keeps his expression unreadable, just like you. Well, you're the one that taught him to do that. After all, you're his big brother.


	2. Dirk and Alpha!Dave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk's thoughts about Alpha!Dave are a little more complicated and desperate, more predatory even. Thoughts of non-con, but that's not surprising considering my usual themes with fics.

You love your brother. You love him so much it hurts, but there’s a thick layer of irony between you two. And that hurts even more. You don’t know what to feel at times, because all that seems good and genuine might as well be some ironic little quirk of his. You can never know for sure. Actually, with Dave, you don’t know shit. You don’t have him mapped out at all, because the second you think you do, he just slips right through it and you’re as lost in his vast fucking psyche as you were in the beginning. There is no start or end to Dave Strider, the elusive little bastard. Everything about him is easy to grasp, but quick to slither out of your hands, constantly changing, constantly out of your reach. You want to know the true him, but there’s a barrier after barrier after barrier every time you try to get closer. You want everything but get barely nothing and you think you’re starting to lose it. And you can’t lose, can’t let him win. Your love and hate and curiosity are all equal.  
Your fingers itch to grab his collars, crumble them in your fists and slam him into the wall, kiss him, bite him and break through all of his barriers by force, leave him vulnerable and for once, true. For that little moment you could see what he really is, what he really thinks. The fear flashing through his eyes, the genuine little hitch of his breath when he lays under you on the floor and your palm is pressed over his throat… And when you push into him, would he wail? Or would he just clench his teeth and take it? Would there be tears? Would he finally say what he really thinks, or will he try to bullshit his way out of this one too? You just want to take him apart, his stupid blonde head, his stupid straight nose, his stupid huge ego, his stupid stupid ramblings, everything, piece by piece until you’ve got the full picture. He’s perfect, but flawed. And you need to map the little imperfections on his infinite perfection, like little cracks spreading through the sky, each of them showing through a little more, each of them pointing you to the right direction, each of them acting as a landmark on him. If you want more a accurate map you need to make him crack more, to break him.  
…but you can’t. How do you think you could lay your hands on him, your perfect big brother? Near God-like. Everything you’ve ever wanted. The only thing you’ve got, but also just about the only thing you can never have.

You’re tense when he comes close and pulls you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you. He tries to ruffle your hair, but you swat his hand away and he laughs, calls you a little shit and presses a ghost of a kiss along your hairline. That gets you. It always does, that little gesture makes you to love him twice more each time. You relax against his frame, bunching the fabric of his shirt into your fists and pressing your face into the crook of his neck as tightly as you can with your shades on. And ignore the pricking in the corners of your eyes.  
Just about the only genuine thing about him might be his unconditional love for you.  
And for the time being that’s enough.


	3. Dirk and Lady Alpha!Dave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now with female Alpha!Dave and Dirk's curious interests. His tone is considerably more respectful when speaking of his big sister than with big brother.  
> Little headcanon that has nothing to do with anything: Dirk has bought Lady Dave a coffee mug with a text "Onee-sama" ironically. She drinks her coffee from it ironically. All is good and ironic.

-“Yo lil’ bro. How do I look?” She says, lazily leaning against the door frame in her masterfully tailored evening gown. It takes all of your willpower to keep yourself from inhaling sharply when you subtly check her out from head to toes. You’d be lying if you’d say that she isn’t totally hot. But that’s still one of the things you can’t say. You keep your face straight when you give her a thumbs up.  
-“Gorgeous.” You answer and watch as her carefully painted lips stretch in a wide grin. Midnight Carmine, one of her favourite lipsticks. Deep and rich matte red, cherry scented with traces of vanilla. Packed in a golden tube stashed in the corner of her drawers along with all the other lipsticks. It’s nothing but a small stub by now, thoroughly used and worn flat. None of her lipsticks have sharp tips, she doesn’t apply them that way. You can’t imagine what it feels like to wear it, but you can imagine the warm, greasy smudge her lips would leave on yours. You’ve never tried lipstick. The few lady things you have learned while living with Sis include the knowledge of lipstick’s tendency to stick on skin so tight that even the Devil himself wouldn’t get it off. So you won’t try, only look, not touch.

By now your sister has returned to her mirror, smugly smiling to herself as she adjusts her breasts to form the most perfect cleavage you’ve seen, a soft, elongated curve peeking from her low neckline. The deep red satin sure compliments her pale-ish skin and makes her cute little freckles stand out. The fabric hugs her curves tightly, especially around her posterior. …but you shouldn’t look. You focus on her waist instead, it’s not that much more okay, but better. What can you say? She really is something to look at. A longer glance at her waist makes you doubt if it’s really that narrow; she’s probably wearing a corset. Even though her bodice is tight it’s also thick enough to hide the outlines of the garment, a corset’s boning has a bad tendency to bulge. You really have to admire the craftsmanship of that dress. God damn. You guess it could be pretty sweet to get to test out a dress like that. But you know they’re always shaped to fit a woman and compliment their shape, so it wouldn’t look as good on you if it happened to actually fit. Your shoulders are too broad as well as the diameter of your chest and the lack of breasts would leave the front strained but empty. On top of that the dress would hang unflattering and loose around your hips. At this point you’re glad you didn’t space out staring at your sister’s butt, but rather at some point your gaze dropped down to your toes when you’re snapped out of it.

-“Ay yo, Dirk. Which ones?” Sis asks, holding out a pair of red anklestrap heels on the hook of her finger, on the other hand she has golden sandals not much unlike a roman god’s. You’re taken aback a bit, flustered more than that. Why would she ask you? Does she know you have eye for this kind of thing? Or has she gotten a wiff of your interests and wants to tease you? Whatever. You swallow dryly and point at the red heels.  
-“Those.” You keep your poker and maybe she won’t see how embarrassed you actually are. If she does she doesn’t at least mention it, instead nodding and plopping down on the couch to put them on. At that point she freezes. You guessed right, she has a corset and she can’t bend enough to get her shoes on. The hairs on the back of your neck rise when she looks at you meaningfully. She doesn’t even have to say anything, you’re already up and giving her the mandatory sigh and shrug before you’re on your knees in front of her, helping her to get her shoes on. The little buckles don’t feel too clumsy in your fingers, you’ve had plenty of experience of closing those. The crimson strap looks beautiful and inviting twisting around her slender ankle and you feel like such a pervert right now holding her foot up in the cup of your hand. You tell yourself to get the job done fast and not to look up at your sister’s smugly amused face, that’s the last thing you need right now. You hope she didn’t notice you spacing out for a second there. You adjust the straps a bit and get up. God fucking dammit, of all the things you can be attracted to why it has to be your bangin’ good looking sister? …you kind of answered yourself there.  
-“Adults should be able to tie their own shoelaces.” You quip at her and she snorts, getting up and smooching the fuck out of your cheek.  
-“Have fun cleaning that out, kid.” She smirks, straightens her back and walks away hips swinging. You slowly reach up to touch your cheek and your face is honestly burning red. You have to admit that you’ve got a little problem right now and it’s better that she isn’t seeing you right now.


	4. Bro and Dave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now switching the ages around and going all Betacest. Bro's view of Dave is considerably more aggressive than his younger self's.

The pretty much only time you can observe Dave is when you're strifing, all heaving breaths and skin glistening with the thick layer of sweat, dust and occasionally blood if you manage to scrape each other. His eyes stare right at yours as you both are locked in your positions, waiting for the next move. His shades lay discarded somewhere as do yours and now you're both experiencing something intimate without any barriers nor self-control. He looks naked when his dilated pupils are locked right into yours, red iris lining the mirror to his soul. It's a mirror because you can see all that shit you've pumped into him and honestly you're a bit scared and a bit turned on. Your breaths heave just as much as the kid's, knuckles white from clutching the handle of your sword so hard that your palms are going to be red and sore afterwards. The asshole who said that gloves prevent that can go fuck himself gladly right out of the door, if anything, your palms get only more scafed when they sweat clad in leather. You can't check out the teen in front of you because now he sees everything, just like you do. But you see more. You see the little twitch of his eyebrow, he wants to swipe his sweaty bangs that are stuck to his forehead. You see how the artery on his neck pulses. You see how he shakes, the little uncertain, defensive notion stuck to his spine. He feels threatened and he should, you're overpowering, bigger and more mature, predatory even and he sees it all. It's what you want him to see. He knows he doesn't stand a chance on an offensive stance, he has to go defensive instead and trust that he's fast and small enough to react to your next move. Compared to you he's small, just a teen. But what he lacks in size pays back in agility and nerves quick to scream danger at the slightest movement. That's your Dave, jumpy little nerve wreck. Even though he is lean he's strong, evenly muscular. If he's going to be anything like you his mass is going to grow. He kind of has gotten out of the awkward stumbling and uneven limbs part of puberty, almost an adult now. His punches actually hurt now and he's not the only one to get the wind knocked out of him anymore. You snap quickly back to reality as Dave lunges towards you, trying to take you by surprise but he has left his own defenses open with that reckless move. It doesn't take much to dodge the blade and slam the kid into the boiling hot concrete of the roof. His sword hits the ground with a metallic ring as it slides well outside his reach. You throw your whole weight on him as you pin him down, trying your best not to grind down on him. You twist his arm painfully behind his back, biting back a groan when his spine bends and ass juts out invitingly. You press your knee down on his lower back, between where his kidneys are, firmly, but not too hard. He has to feel that he's defenseless, feel who's in charge and admit that he's helpless under your body. He whines softly, breathing a bit more ragged than before. Soon he's shaking and suddenly bursts out laughing. You do the same and help yourself off of his back. A warm wave of kinds washes through you as you offer your hand to the kid, which he grabs without hesitation. You pull him up, pat his back hard and you both keep laughing and panting for a while. Then you pick your things up and go get a shower. The strife is over.


End file.
